


Six-Hundred Volts

by Crymore



Series: OC x Len [4]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Character Development, Employee to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Guns, Internal Monologue, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, Organized Crime, Pre-Flash, Romance, Slow Build, four years before the particle accelerator explodes, hope your in for a long haul buds, stealing crap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crymore/pseuds/Crymore
Summary: Ferguson was good with her hands. She could rewire an A/C unit blind folded. Like her father she was a handy man; but after his unexpected death and her cheating uncle, Ferguson needed money fast.Unfortunately for her, Snart's on the hunt for someone good with their hands.





	1. The Set Up

The sharp autumn wind pushed and flayed strands of long brown hair around a round pale face. Equally brown, albeit watery, eyes stared down at the tombstone at her feet, the wind not the cause of the tears. The woman heaved a shaky sigh as she knelt into the soft ground. 

“You should have said something.” She rasped. More tears flow down the freckled face. “Something, anything.” She mourned.

The dying sunlight began to fade in the cemetery, casting an orange glow about the dead grass. Autumn had taken over Central City with a vengeance; nearly every living flora had already turned brown and crinkly, dead. With great reluctance, the brunette stood up, leaving the dirt on her knees. As much as Ann would have liked to stay and cry to her hearts content, she needed to this the proper Scots way. In proper mourning fashion, she had to get sloshed before she can showcased her feeling. Had to drink for those who couldn’t anymore. Ann scowled as she walked to her car. If that was the case, she’d be drinking stout tonight; she hates stout. But, it was her father’s favorite, so she’ll tough it through for him. The proper Scot way. 

On the little 8”X11” stone slab behind her, the words 

“Here lies Clive-Jamison Terrell Ferguson. Better man than most.

Ag èirigh”

Were engraved with soft curling letters, the edge of each letter was still sharp, still fresh; fresh like the turned dirt and the pained feeling in her chest. 

With one last longing look to the grave, Ann left her father’s grave and went to the closest bar to the cemetery. 

It wasn’t “Uptagrove’s Pub”, in Opal City, but “Saints and Sinners” would have to do.

 

—

Dorris Grey liked her bar. She liked her patrons. Non of them paid her any mind nor with credit (and there’s nothing Dorris hated more than over hyped technology). 

The girl at the counter, though, is not a usual barfly. She’s dressed for mourning and crying like it too, downing stout and grimacing the whole while. Her brown hair was tied behind her, showing the spotchy, freckled face. Obviously this girl was having a wake for one; and misery loves company....

“What’s got you so down.” Years of smoking had reduced Dorris’s voice to nothing but a low gravel at the best of times. She was proud of herself for being able to convey sympathy with her limited range.

The girl whines in her throat and let her head fall to the table with a sickening crack. 

“My dad’s dead, my uncle sold all of his shit, I don’t have a job, and my uncle evicted my from my house.” The girl had a deep Central accent, not unlike Dorris’s own decades ago. “So now I’m homeless, jobless, and orphaned all within two days.” She held up her glass weakly, shaking terribly. “Cheers.”

Oh great. Now Dorris is curious. “Now I gotta her this from the beginning, doll.”

The young girl, Anne, regaled the whole awful affair, from start to finish with an excess amount of cussing, and downing another glass of stout. Dorris felt for the girl she really did, but the only thing Dorris does to help people was to get them drunk enough to forget the bad shit. 

As the bartender gently rubbed the younger woman’s back as she sobbed, tired brown eyes flickered up slightly, eyeing the flickering screen of the old tv. 

“I can fix that.”

Dorris looked up as well. “The TV?”

“It easy rewiring. I mean, it’d take five minutes.” The television has had shitty reception since Dorris bought it from a pawn shop. It had never work quite right.

But Anne did say that she was an electrician. Dorris wondered idly if the brunette could work a tap.

 

—-

 

Leonard nodded to Dorris in thanks when she laid down the bottle of Coors and looked up to watch the latest Diamond Cutters hockey game. Mick and he had been scouting for new people for the newest crew for the last two weeks. The thing about hiring criminals, is that it’s very hard to trust them. The thieves found solace in their usual dive, after tracking down and basically stalking other criminals to see if they could be of use. 

“We could get Scudder and Dillion.” Mick suggested. 

“I’m not bringing on my sister’s ex-girlfriend and her dickish new boy-toy.” Len snapped back. His grey eyes flickered back to the screen, and squinted at the clear quality.

“D, when you get a new TV?”

Dorris smirked and shrugged, returning to the bar. Mick snickered behind his shot glass. It was always fun to see Len get the cold shoulder. 

The younger man threw his friend a dirty look and sipped his beer, ceasing his movements.

“D, comm'ere a second.”

Dorris rolled her eyes.

“Come on, it’s not like you have anyone else to wait on.” That was true, save for the pair in the booth and the stranger fiddling with a neon sign that's been broken since long before Len became a regular here.

The bartender rolled her eyes but came over anyway. In true impairment Dorris fashion, she placed a hand on her hip and raid a single thin eye brow, as if to convey that Snart should hurry the hell up before she left. 

“This beer cold.”

The muscles in the dread-locked woman’s face changed minuscully, now conveying the message of “And?”

Len rolled his eyes. "You never keep your bottles cold. Why the sudden change?"

Dorris shrugged, still smirking a little. "Must've been the new hire."

Mick and Len exchanged looks. The day Dorris Grey hired another person to help out in her bar was the day the world ended. It didn't look like the end times when they came inside. Who was skilled enough or cheap enough for Dorris to hire?

As if reading their minds, Dorris gestured with her head to the stranger by the neon sign, now flickering to life. The stranger made a noise of approval and scratched their head before turning around. Mick breathed a laugh at the sight. The new hire was a young woman, brown hair tucked into the dark blue baseball cap on her head, decked in grey, black, and green plaid flannel and jeans that were too long. Not what the pyro was expecting, for sure.

"I think she uses a can of compressed air to chill the beer before handing it to me." Dorris offered before leaving the booth, going to the new girl. They spoke in low voices before the younger woman departed through the back door, grabbing a tool box that the pair hadn't seen from their angle before she disappeared through the back door. 

Len's eyes followed her out. It might not take great skill to bring an old sign back from beyond the grave, and if he's assuming correctly, the brunette was the one who fixed the television, but the compressed air? That was clever. Clever to think of it, clever to fix thing that were beyond repair. Clever and good with her hands....

"Didn't you say we needed an electrician?" Mick asked from behind his glass. 

Len smirk. They did.

 

\---

 

Anne rubbed her eyes irritably and shivered in the cool fall air. Dorris woke her up god knows how late (or early based on how you look at it) because something went haywire with the bar's grid before she closed down, which really isn't a surprise to her because Anne would bet her bottom dollar that the last time an electrician looked at the fuse box for this place was when it was installed. Now Anne's evening was away from her (mostly) comfty bed in Dorris's spare room, and in a the creepy ass basement of the vacant bar with a flashlight nestled between her shoulder and ear.

With no small amount of frustration, the brunette hastily threw the small door open and looked into the dusty inner-workings. "How in the hell did this thing even-" Brown eyes fell onto a totally-not-dusty item, small and circular and black, attached to a small cluster of wires. The faded colors of red and yellow and green were exposed where someone's fingers brushed the dust off when they attached the device. Confused, Anne turned the thing around to see where the wires were attached. 

"... what kind of bullshit-radio-shack-fuckery is this?" 

With expert movements, Anne quickly unscrewed the device, returned the wires to their rightful connection, then, because the disorganization bothered her, she untangled the rest of the wire, flipped the switch, and hummed in satisfaction at hearing the electricity flow through the building, effectively turning on the basement's lights.

Since the flashlight was useless now, she turned it off and dropped it into her tool box. 

"And once again, the day is saved by the only competent person in the room." She proudly boasted to herself.

"I dunno, I thought I was pretty clever with inhibitor." A voice called from behind.

Anne may have gotten whiplash from how quickly she turned. At the base of the stair stood a man with short cropped hair in dark clothing, staring at her with an appraising look.

"You have very nimble fingers."

"That is the second creepiest thing someone's said to me."

The man smirked, amused. Either at her quip or the terror in Anne's eyes.

"I don't believe we were properly introduced earlier in the bar."

"I was told not to remember any names or faces in case the cops come."

A quiet laugh came from the stranger and he stepped forward.

"The name's Snart-"

"That's unfortunate."

"Do have a retort for everything."

"Only when I'm awake." Ah, humor. The Ferguson's natural defense mechanism. 

The man smirked once again before continuing, his tone serious. "You seem to know your way around a fuse box, and you seem smart enough to notice the device I planted. And since it took you fourteen minutes to get here, I'm going to assume you're staying with Dorris?" Anne gaped t him as he made his way towards her. "And if you're staying there, I'm also going to assume that you're strapped for cash, desperate to the point you're living with your boss, so-" he stopped right before her, Anne's back pressed against the closed fused box door. His height forced the stranger to look down his nose at her, cold cold greys meeting scared brown. "Do you wanna make some extra cash? I need an electrician for an upcoming project."


	2. Warehouse’s have less atmosphere than Basement’s apparently.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne still had hope for a legal job, Len likes to dash that hope.

Anne stared at the numbers and words written hastily on her hand under the pale light from the lamppost outside the window.   
  
“ _ In five days, if you do want to get rid of those pesky student loan debts and have a bit left over to finally get your own place,” the man, Snart, said, scribbling down an address on the back of her hand, “then come here, at this time. Just makes sure you come alone.” _ __   
__   
_ “This seems pretty.... shady for a consultation.” Anne said uncertainty. _ __   
__   
_ Snart smirked. “Have a little faith, Miss Ferguson. You’ll find I’m very specific in what I ask of you. There’ll be no confusion.” _ __   
__   
_ At the nervous look displayed, the smirk on the man’s face dropped to a look of something akin to comforting.  _ __   
__   
__ “Hey now.” He hummed lowly, huddling closer to the electrician. “Nothing I don’t plan for will happen, and I do plan for everything. The only thing you,” The bastard had the gall to boop her nose, “need to do, is what I tell you .”   
  
Naturally, first instinct was to tell him to fuck off, and, oh, how she wanted to. So badly. But in those seconds of silence between Snart talking, Anne thought a lot. He was right; she was staying with Dorris, and she did have overwhelming debts, not to mention that she literally isn’t making any revenue.   
  
So lying on the spare bed that smelled like cigarettes, listening to Dorris snore softly in the room across the hall, holding the stupid inhibitor device in the hand that had the stupid information on it.   
  
Anne sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Now she was think about the money she had growing, well, lack there of. She and dad never had enough to be not be worried. Their small three bedroom house was filled with tools and bare necessities and laughter. The Ferguson Electrician Company was ran out of the basement; and more often then not Anne had to go with her father on jobs for the lack of funds to get a babysitter.   
  
“We really stress the family in family business.” Her dad use to say. That got a lot of laughs.    
  
Anne was born and raised in that house. Only leaving at twenty, and never had the chance to go back.    
  
Maybe, if this all pans out, she could buy the house back.    
  
No no no no! Bad Annabelle! Dad always taught you to get your money first then decide how to spend it! Geez, you might not even take the job yet, chill!   
  
Beside, Anne thought, what exactly is this Snart character gonna have her due that’s gonna pay off five years of student loan debt?   
  
Then Anne thought back on how Dorris specifically explained as to why Anne should never get involved with the patrons, seeing as most of them were ex-cons or on the run.    
  
Oh, geez; Anne’s better keep this on the down low.   
  
—-   
  
The warehouse was a twenty minute walk from the bar, and by the time Anne got there, she realized it would be an hour walk back to Dorris’s.    
  
Well, too late to go back now.    
  
With a fortifying breath, Anne stepped forward to her possible doom. Dear god, since when was she so dramatic?   
  
There was a small service door on the right side of the building, like Snart said, and Anne tentatively knocked.    
  
A bald man with a dour expression opened the door, dark eyes instantly meeting Anne’s. He stared at her, eyes trailing up and down slowly, assessing her.    
  
“You look even less threatening up close.”   
  
The sentence was so sudden that it took an a second to realize the man spoke at all. He seemed like such a strong silent type.    
  
“Snart and the rest of ‘em are inside. Comm’on.”   
  
Anne followed dutifully, remaining silent the whole time. She didn’t let her eyes stray from the center of the man’s back. Large muscles strained the thermal shirt he was wearing and Anne tried not to swoon. She then reminded herself that this guy was more than likely a criminal and all previous amourous thought died. 

 

The woman mentally shook her head. She didn’t know if this was illegal dealings, no need to jump to such conclusion! Then again, she was proposed a job in the basement of where the proposer places an electrical device to test Anne’s skill, so… okay, chances of this being illegal were more than likely. Oh, god what would dad say?!

 

The duo walked up a flight of metal stairs, the bald man opened the door and waited until Anne passed through the threshold before closing it.

 

The room was clean, with a desk, chairs, and a sofa furnishing it. The thing that was making Anne nervous was there were people on the furnishings. 

 

Snart was at the desk, the bald man behind him in the desk chair. Snart smirked at Anne before speaking.

 

“Well, lady and gentlemen.” He started. 

 

Anne’s eyes darted around the room. Excluding her, Snart, and baldie, there were four other men in the room. One, sitting on the arm of the sofa, had pale skin and black hair with a thin and crooked nose. On one of the lounge chairs sat a skinny bearded man, with brown hair and tan skin stretching across his gaunt face, his blue eyes never settling on a single object for more than a few seconds. Two look nearly identical, both with blond hair cut in the same style, both wearing the same outfit, but one looked meaner, glaring at Snart whole he talked while the other had a soft, emotionless expression; despite the long scar on his face.

 

Oh god, Anne thought, she was in a room of criminals. No legal dealings happened at 12:19 in a warehouse in Central!!! 

 

“I had selected you five to help me with a… little project.” Snart soldier on through his speech, pointing to cork board Anne hadn’t noticed earlier on the far wall. 

 

On the board were several photos. The only thing that made sense to Anne was the blueprint of a grid system and the picture of a small solar panel generator.

 

“What you’re seeing is the list of items that multi millionaire Bob Winslow bought for the last five years, the layout of his private museum, his grid blueprint, his main source of electric power, and the layout of his mansion. With the help of you five individuals, with myself and Mick,” he tacked on, looking directly at Anne (as if to say, “Remember that name, he’s more important to this than they are,”), “I have a foolproof plan that could get up in that house and swipe enough shit to get us three hundred thousand dollars,” he moved his gaze to the dark, pale man, “each.”

 

Baldie, Mick, looked up to the board and grunted. “If you’re doing this. There ain’t any backing out. If you’re in, you’re in.”

 

The finality in his voice made Anne pause. She hated to think what would happen if someone backed out.  

 

The dark, pale man spoke up. “Any reason as to why  _ I’m _ here, Snart?”

 

You and me both buddy, Anne thought. 

 

Snart smirked and tutted, wagging his finger back and forth as if to scold a child. “Now now Ralpho, I’m not gonna say anything until I know if you’re on board or not.” 

 

Everyone made a noise of displeasure at that statement. 

 

“Very big, my friends. Who’s in?”

 

The twins glanced at each other before nodding. Mick mumbled something about not having a choice. Ralpho rolled his pale eyes but relaxed against the sofa, as if giving in. The only two not on board were Beard and Anne. 

 

Snart seem to anticipate resistance from those two. “If you need more convincing, just ask me anything you want until you feel comfortable with this plan.”

 

“We don’t even know the plan.” The un-scarred twin deadpanned. 

 

Anne’s words were flying from her mouth before she realized it. “Have you been caught don’t something like this before?” She immediately bit her lip as soon as she was done, refusing to look at the others whose stares bore into her. 

 

Snart smiled arrogantly. “Not when I’m in charge, no. Last time I was caught was because the boss used me as a scapegoat.”

 

That did comfort Anne a little. Snart seemed to know his business, and if the only time he was caught was when someone had deliberately set him up, then… but this was still illegal. What if Snart sets  _ her _ up? Or one of the others do? This was stealing; not a pack of gum at the gas station stealing but  _ actual _ stealing.  _ Organized crime  _ stealing. Morally wrong. There’s a whole Commandment for not stealing. Her father never taught her to steal.

 

(Anne thought about the upcoming winter and the fact she still has no home).

 

Then again, he never taught her to starve either. 

 

Snart was still watching her closely, eyeing every feature on her face. He must have seen her resignation. So, he turned to Beard.

 

It took a second or two before he spoke. “I need to know this stuff will be able to sell.” He said softly, trying to make himself smaller under Snart’s needlessly pointed gaze. 

 

Ralpho seemed eager to answer Beard’s concern. “Winslow is known for buying half his things on the black market. Who cares if they gets sold back to it?”

 

That seemed to be enough for Beard.

 

Snart seemed pleased and clapped his hands. “Wonderful! This plan will be over the span of three months. From now until New Years. I’ll contact you all for our next meeting to discuss the plan in more detail, but until then,” he gestured towards the door, “good night gentlemen.”

 

Ralpho launches of the sofa’s arm, threw open the door (which hit Anne’s side) and dashed out. The twins silently nodded in farewell to Snart, the scarred one smirked at Mick and Mick smirked back before leaving. Beard followed suit in departure.

 

Anne made a move to leave as well when she heard Snart speak up.

 

“Mick, give me and the newbie the room, hm?”

 

—-

 

Len walked with no shortage of amusement at Anne tensing up at his words. Mick raised a questioning eyebrow, but grunted and eventually left, closing the door behind him. The brunette remained standing by the doorway, eyes fixated on the floor. 

 

Well, that wouldn’t do.

 

“Take a seat.”

 

It took a second for her to comply, but eventually Anne quietly walked to the sofa and sat in the center, looking up to Len as he walked around to the front.

 

He stared at her for a bit. Brown and grey eyes locked and neither backing down. 

 

Finally, Len spoke. 

 

“You still have doubts.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. 

 

Anne looked agitated when she responded. “I thought you needed time to re-wire a house or something, not rob some guy.” She spat. 

 

Len shrugged nonchalantly. 

 

All this did was agitate Anne more. “Any specific reason it’s this guy? Bob whatever?”

 

The thief looked to Anne sharply, eyes hard and mouth teasing into a smile. “He has a lot of money and I want some of it. So does Mick, and Ralpho, and so do  _ you _ .”

 

She looked away with a huff. 

 

He didn’t really need an electrician like her on his crew. He or mick had enough knowledge between them to complete their task. And Lewis always warned about too many people on a single job… 

 

But Len could see the naivety on the woman. He almost wanted to tease her. “ _ You really thought I was going to ask you to do a real job? I set up a test for you; wrote down instructions I told you to memorize then erase; did any of that sound legal to you?” _ Mostly, he wanted to exploit her. It didn’t take a master of body language like Leonard to see that the young woman was unsure of herself, sad, lonely, desperate for money and real work beside neon signs and old fuse boxes. This was a girl who would do this job if the pay out was a bag of Big Belly Burger. There was a shred of morality, what a pesky thing, but Len could convince a priest to break his vows, so he wasn’t too worried. Anne was a tool, an instrument that needed to be played the right way to be her best. Len could sway her to just about anything he wanted if he said the right thing the right way at the right time.

 

After all, the con in con-artist meant “confidence”, and Len was certainly an artist in his craft. 

 

“You’re staying Dorris, right?” 

 

Anne looked back to Len, then nodded shyly. 

 

“She’s good people. You don’t meet a lot like her.”

 

Anne’s eyes casted back to the floor. “Better than most.” She mumble, a frown pulling at her lips. 

 

“And I don’t know about what landed you at her place, and I don't care, but I think you and I agree you don’t want to bring this on her.”  Anne flinched at his implication. 

 

Ah, guilt. The fastest way to manipulate someone. 

 

“There’s another room in the warehouse, on the other side. It used to be the foreman’s office, so it’s all decked out and furnished.”

 

Anne looked confusingly up to Len, as if to say “So what?”

 

Len sigh for dramatic effect. “We don’t want Dorris involved in any which way, so I’m giving you the room here until the job is done.”

 

He stressed “we”. It was important to convince the girl that she thinks she is accepting the job in her own free will. 

 

There was still uncertainty on Anne’s face. Reasonable, Len supposed. This is probably the first time she’s willingly planning to break the law. 

 

“I’m the best in the business, Ferguson.” He stated, smiling smugly and putting on the airs of confidence. “I’ve been pulling heists for years and the pigs haven’t been able to get me. My plans are perfect, and the only thing you need to worry about,” he leaned over a bit, just to grab her attention. “Is how you’re gonna spend all the money.” He drawled. 

 

Anne sighed heavily, but Len knew she was sold. 

 

The next few minutes were filled with Len explaining his normal routine, where the closest laundromat was and the bus schedule. Basic things Anne would need to live in the warehouse. She nodded and repeated a few things, but otherwise was completely compliant. She looked defeated, just the way Len needed her to be. It was always much easier to play a person when they were dependent on you; much less variables, less chances for things to go wary. 

 

At the end of the mostly one sided conversation, Anne nodded and stood up. 

 

“Mick wasn’t kidding.” He tacked on. At the confused look Anne gave him, Len elaborated. “Once your on a job, there’s no backing out. I either make you leave,” he tilted his head down to look more threatening. He half wanted to scare her away, half wanted her to fully understand how serious he was. “Or I  _ make _ you leave. Clear?”

 

Anne seemed a bit paler at the words, but nodded. “Crystal, boss.”

 

Hmm, boss. Len liked the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> So, new OC. This should be fun!


End file.
